


Welcome Home

by MyCherryRed



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyCherryRed/pseuds/MyCherryRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well fuck him. Fuck Derek and his lurky...lurkiness. Fuck him for turning up when Stiles was finally happy and smelling so damned good, radiating heat like a stupid werewolf furnace, as if it wasn't hot enough in the crush as it was. </p><p>Or</p><p>The one where Stiles can dance and apparently, so can Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. 
> 
> This is my first time playing in the TW sandbox so please let me know what you think!

College, as it turns out, was something that Stiles was very, very good at. 

The fact that he had chosen a school, completely unseen on the single merit that it was clear over the other side of the country probably had something to do with it. Even with his wicked high IQ, it was a small miracle that Stiles had even graduated high school considering all the supernatural shit that he had to put up with on a daily basis, usually resulting in 8 hours sleep a week and a disturbing addiction to Adderall that he didn't really need any more, but gave him that little extra edge when he should have been just too tired to focus. 

He was almost glad that Scott had gotten so wrapped up in pack leadership and fixing his relationship with Allison that he pretty much forgot his best friend existed for six months towards the end of school. It had certainly made the choice easier, even though it ripped the heart of his chest to sever almost all ties he had to his home town and strike out completely on his own without a safety net. 

He called his dad every other day, or Skyped him after teaching him how to work the fancy laptop he had bought just for keeping in touch with his son. He took classes and made friends with the kids in his dorm who didn't mind the tired looking spaz that turned up a week early and claimed the bed on the right of his room with a duffel bag and a laptop case to his name. Turns out people in college were a hell of a lot easier to talk to than high school, or maybe he just didn't care any more what people thought of him. 

He had never really questioned the fact that he likes boys as much as he liked girls, and had no luck through high school with either, but apparently college was a completely different kettle of werewolves. 

New York was home to some pretty epic dance clubs and since growing into his long limbs Stiles actually discovered both coordination and rhythm. Apparently a well placed body roll could do absolute wonders for his love life as well as a harsh amount of alcohol that let him fluidly execute said body roll without feeling like the spaz he used to be. 

Dancing didn't just get him laid but let him get out of his own head. The plethora of nightmares that inhabited his fast working mind still plagued him to the point that a hard beat and the crushing, sweating bodies of complete strangers was the only thing that could drown it out. He could go all night after a nightmare. 

When he rocked up to the club with his dorm mates to celebrate a tricky Clinical Psychology final he wasn't thinking about nightmare, werewolves or Beacon Hills, or even really about getting laid. His skin had itched all day, from the first cup of coffee from the hole in the wall to the second he could hear the thump of the bass, as if someone was following him. 

It was a sensation he hadn't had in a while and he thought he could see flashes of black out of the corner of his eye, but it just couldn't be who he thought it was because he had disappeared from Beacon Hills long before Stiles had with no intention of coming back. He knew this because he had left the lovesick teen with a hot perfect kiss and an apology before jumping his hot werewolf ass out of his window and skipping town within the hour. 

Bastard. 

Four shots and a weird looking cocktail that he was sure was half lighter fluid later and Stiles was pleasantly buzzed and moving his lithe body to a beat that caught at the breath in his lungs and wiped his mind clean. He was in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by people, some of whom he even knew and occasionally grinned winningly at in the flashing intervals of the strobe light. 

The itch had settled in between his shoulder blades, almost hidden between the thumps of the bass that he swung his hips to, but he still wasn't startled by the body that was all of a sudden behind him, pressing a hard chest against his leanly muscled back. He paused in his movements as if someone had flipped a switch, breathing hard and just absorbing the achingly familiar scent of ash and leather that settled low in his stomach.

A broad hand pressed against the juncture of his neck, laid bare by the tight black t shirt that he tucked into skinny jeans a pair of knee high docs he had fallen in love with during his first year. Dark hair fell in sweaty clumps into his lined whisky eyes as he resisted the urge to lean into that touch. A touch he only had the pleasure of feeling in this context once before he saw nothing but Derek Hales back as his lips tingled. 

Well fuck him. Fuck Derek and his lurky...lurkiness. Fuck him for turning up when Stiles was finally happy and smelling so damned good, radiating heat like a stupid werewolf furnace, as if it wasn't hot enough in the crush as it was. 

Fuck. Him. 

Stiles did the only thing he could think of because damn it, it was HIS fucking dance floor and Derek Hale could just suck it. He figured just resuming his dancing, putting a little extra flick in his hips, a little more roll in his body would send the damaged man running for the hills because the stoic Sourwolf didn't dance. 

Hot hands resting just above his belt, scorching his waist as he was pulled back and into a rock solid furnace; heat that he could feel even through their layers of clothing. Stiles had, on occasion, been known to get the situation completely wrong in the past, and the one thing that he was relying on for full pay back was apparently the one thing that he had grossly misjudged. 

Sourwolf did, in fact, dance. 

Certainly he danced enough that even though Stiles was (supposed to be) still still mad, he could help but be shocked enough to allow the mighty beast to slot their bodies together and start moving to the music. Rough stubble streaked over his throat, scratching at the exposed skin and made him shiver as large, hot hands bracketed his hips and pulled him back. Pulled him closer. 

The bass beat through his body in time with his heart that sped up like a bullet train with every rolling movement of Derek's hips against his ass, fingers whispering against his skin like the sweetest apology when they slipped under the clinging fabric of his shirt. 

He could feel Derek's chest expand against his shoulder blades as the wolf took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. He felt like he was holding himself back, holding himself together not sure of his welcome. So much time had passed and Stiles body still thrummed in proximity, his bones aching with need at that beautiful, earthy scent and he knew he would never say no to this man. His Alpha who was no longer an Alpha could ask anything of him. 

He turned slowly, reluctantly pulling his body away so that he could look into glass green eyes that somehow seemed lighter and so much less burdened than the last time he'd seen them. In those eyes was a question, and in the moment Stiles own golden eyes flashed the answer, swimming in alcohol and recaptured opportunities.

_Please, forgive me._

_You know I do._

Those huge, sorry hand cupped his face, stroking over the tiny marks on his skin, making him feel like he was the only person left in that crowded club. The music wasn't playing, it couldn't be because as Derek's lips touched his own in a soft, desperate kiss the only sound he could hear was his own laboured breathing and thunder coming from his chest. 

He clung to the source of the storm, soft cotton clenched in his long fingers as he finally tasted the memory that had kept him longingly angry since this man had walked away with no promise of return. 

Derek had found him anyway.

Their lips unlocked, breath mingling as they pulled away only the barest amount, as if the wolf didn't dare let him go any further. As if he was the one who disappeared. 

“I missed you.” Stiles heard faintly, underneath the storm and the music and his too hard heartbeat. “I missed you so much.” 

He couldn't speak, couldn't think but he could do, and he did in answer to Derek's question, their lips meeting again when he couldn't form words. Sourwolf wasn't going anywhere, ever again. 

_Do you forgive me? Did you miss me?_

_Of course. Forever._

****

When he woke up there was eyeliner smushed into his pillow case and his hair was doing something terrifying on top of his head because he clearly hadn't had the presence of mind to dunk his head in the sink to rinse the gel out. The covers had been pushed off the bed and would have been shivering had it not been for the overheated body nestled behind him.

Oh fuck. 

“Please tell me you remember last night.” A familiarly gruff voice sounded from where Derek's face was buried in the back of Stiles neck, nuzzling at the soft, wayward hair at his nape. 

“I wouldn't be able to forget last night if I tried.” His voice came out softer than he was anticipating, vocal chords well used and catching in a way that it only did after a night of loud, gymnastic sex. It certainly wasn't due to the minimal sing along he'd had in the club before he was were-napped. 

There was a very sudden stillness behind him and he hadn't even realised that Derek had been moving, his hand very gently smoothing over his exposed skin in even, reverent swipes as if he couldn't quite believe he had it right there. Stiles could relate. He was still a little convinced that he was dreaming one of those special Derek dreams that didn't involve internal and external agony. 

“Do you...want to?” he sounded almost strangled and Stiles pulled away slightly to turn around a actually look at Derek for the first time since outside the club. He looked almost vulnerable, like Stiles answer to his question would either make or break him and he wasn't at all sure which way this was going to go. 

“Well, that really all depends.” Stiles said with a soft smile, because there was hope in Derek Hales eyes and he never thought he would see that there. He couldn't wait to find out why. “Was this a one that got away opportunistic fuck, a pity fuck or a welcome home fuck?”

He had to hide a smile when, after everything they did the night before, Derek blushed a pretty shade of red, the tips of his ears changing colour as he ducked his head charmingly. 

“Jesus, when did you get all....”

“Potty mouth,” he thought about that briefly “...ier? College dude, keep up and answer the question.” 

“The third, I hope.” It was almost an entire sentence, and the expression on the older man’s face was more open than Stiles had ever seen him. 

“I see you learnt words while you were away. Congratulations.” The look in his soft eyes turned into the aching hurt he had carried around since Derek had left. “You have an abandoned teenage boy inside this gorgeous body to make up for bailing without a word, but you could start by buying breakfast. With conversation. A specific conversation about where the hell you've been.”

“Pancakes?”

“Perfect.” He reached up and traced over the plump lines of Dereks lips, pressing his own to his softly and sweetly. “Welcome home.”


End file.
